Lucky (25 page)

Tell me it’s all off between you and Susan and I won’t budge
, she thought.

He didn’t say a word.

*   *   *

Matt heard about the tragedy on the early evening news. Another backyard drowning. This time an eleven-month-old baby boy who had crawled out of an open patio door and fallen into the family swimming pool. The newscaster, a woman who looked like she had just come from the Miss America contest, assumed a grave expression, and informed her audience that although foul play was not suspected, the parents, Jess and Wayland Dolby, had been taken to the police station for further questioning.

For a moment Matt was stunned. It was Jess.
It was her kid. What the hell had happened?

Galvanized into action he grabbed his jacket and hurried from the office.

*   *   *

Susan and Paige met at a Brentwood house which Paige was redecorating. The owner, a macho superstar who had appeared in Paige’s husband’s hit movie, was in Hawaii with another macho superstar, also male.

Susan arrived at the house first, and waited impatiently outside in her yellow Rolls. Paige only kept her waiting a few minutes before she arrived in her metallic gold Porsche. She hurried from the car and rushed over to Susan who now stood beside her Rolls, allowing the affection she felt for Paige to envelop her. The two women embraced. They made an incongruous couple. Susan so elegantly groomed in a sleek silk suit with upswept blonde hair, and Paige, with her frizzy mass of hair and slit-to-the-limit skirt.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Paige said, exuding a mixture of strong perfume and musky body odours. ‘I just got a new house to decorate, a rush job. Some little starlet one of Ryder’s investors is setting up. She wants the usual – Monroe white, mirrors, and fur bedspreads. All the better to fuck on!’

Susan smiled. If Gino had made such a crass remark she would have reprimanded him with a look.

They entered the house. It was almost complete, a masculine fantasy of wood and leather.

‘What do you think?’ asked Paige, taking her through it room by room.

‘Very impressive,’ enthused Susan, although it
was
a little overdone.

‘Ted’ll love it,’ said Paige. ‘So will his boyfriend.’

They reached the bedroom and stood in front of the dark oak four poster bed.

‘King size,’ Paige said, ‘to match its owner.’

‘How would you know?’ Susan asked quickly. She had her suspicions that Paige sometimes slept with her clients, although she never voiced such a thought.

‘Because
everyone
knows,’ Paige replied. ‘Just like everyone knows Tiny possessed one of the biggest cocks in Hollywood.’

Susan frowned. Sometimes Paige went too far. She wished she would not mention Tiny. Now he was gone she would prefer to forget him,
and
his hateful organ, which, as a matter of fact,
had
been one of the most awesome appendages she had ever seen. She looked at Paige meaningfully, and slipped the silk jacket from her shoulders. ‘Did you miss me?’ she asked. ‘Because I missed you.’

Paige smiled. ‘But of course,’ she said, stepping out of her skirt.

Susan hurriedly removed the rest of her clothes and waited for Paige’s special touch. Sex with a woman was so natural. There was none of the underlying violence that always seemed to be present when sleeping with a man. Susan felt no threat or violation. It was so delightful to let herself go. To lie back and feel so totally and completely at ease.

Her orgasm, when it arrived, was the real thing. With a man she always faked it. Somehow it was easier that way.

She lay naked and content in the centre of the big oak bed and began to tell Paige about Gino.

The other woman listened intently as the story unfolded.

Susan concluded with a sigh, ‘I’m marrying him,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid it’s the only answer.’

Paige nodded. Frankly she thought Gino Santangelo sounded like dynamite. The trouble with Susan was she didn’t know a good thing when she saw it. After all, a fuck was a fuck, it didn’t really matter what sex it was.

‘I want you to know,’ Susan continued, ‘it won’t make any difference to our relationship.’

Paige rose from the bed. ‘Marriage agrees with you,’ she said. ‘You need a man around, if only to pay the bills.’

Susan stretched luxuriously. ‘You, my dear one, are what I need.’ She parted her legs abandonedly. With Paige she could never get enough loving. With Gino it was always too much.

‘I’ve got to rush,’ Paige said, beginning to dress. ‘I’m having twelve guests for dinner tonight. We’re screening the new Bronson film. I would have asked you, but I know how you hate coming on your own. Never mind, soon you’ll be a couple again.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Susan, a touch irritably. She had been ready to play some more, and now Paige was rushing off. It really was too bad considering they hadn’t seen each other in months. ‘Can we meet again soon?’ she asked.

‘We could,’ mused Paige, applying lipstick. ‘But I don’t know if I’m ready to share a bed with Ted. He’s coming back tomorrow. Which reminds me – I need fresh flowers, and more cushions, and . . .’ She rushed to her purse and extracted a Gucci pad and pen. ‘Honestly, I don’t know how I do it all. I’m like a juggler, keeping everyone’s balls in the air. Ryder would fall to pieces without me, and the teenage monsters are so demanding. Bradford was thrown out of school last week for pushing pot. And Ricky smashed up his brand new Corvette.’

Later, driving home, Susan decided that her two uptight WASPs weren’t so bad. And Gino . . . well it would be nice to have a man by her side again. There was a time when Paige wouldn’t have
dared
to have a dinner party without her. Now it was –
I know how you hate coming on your own
– and that was that.

At home she called Gino. He sounded blue. She cheered him with soft words and decided to make the wedding as soon as possible.

*   *   *

Over the years Gino had learned to appreciate a relationship as opposed to just getting laid. Any jerk could get laid, developing a closeness between two people was what really mattered.

He had married twice in his life. The first time to Cindy. She couldn’t be trusted.

The second time to Maria. The one true love of his life.

In between there had been few women who left their mark.

Clementine Duke – the wife of a Senator. A cool and classy lady who came upon him when he was twenty-two and guided him toward the good things in life.

Bee, who took him in when he needed her help, and waited for him while he spent seven years in jail.

Marabelle Blue, sex symbol supreme. She turned out to be a neurotic mess who tried suicide when he rejected her.

And the last permanent liaison was with an attractive widow, a woman not unlike Susan in the looks department. She had moved in with him in Israel and shared his exile. When he returned to America he left her behind.

Now Susan.

Was he making a mistake? There was always that moment of doubt.

He didn’t think so.

He lit a long thin Havana cigar and gazed thoughtfully into the future.

The detective had a few strands of carefully arranged greasy hair.

Jess couldn’t help staring, even though she knew instinctively it was annoying him. Childishly she thought if she stared long enough this whole unbelievable nightmare would go away.

‘Why didja leave him with your husband if y’knew he was zonked outta his skull?’ the detective demanded. ‘Ain’tcha ever heard of child neglect? If y’ask me you may well’ve dumped the kid in the pool yourself. Mebbe y’did. Nothin’ surprises me in this screwed up world.’

His cruel words did not get through to her. She refused to hear what he was saying. She knew they had to let her go. They couldn’t keep her. She hadn’t done anything . . .

Except claw and scratch and kick and scream, and if she’d had a gun she would have shot the sonofabitch.

Wayland.

Asleep.

As if he didn’t have a care in the world.

And their baby . . .

Simon . . .

Floating . . .

Like a toy . . .

The rush of horror. This wasn’t happening, couldn’t be happening.

Her breathing restricted. Reflexes slow.

She began to scream. And then she pulled her baby from the pool by his hair. A neighbour’s son appeared and bent over the small, bloated, lifeless form.

Eventually Wayland staggered from the house, blank-eyed and shirtless. ‘Wassamatter?’ he mumbled.

She flew at him, beating his chest with her fists, raking his vile face with her nails, until her screams brought more neighbours and finally the police.

It was all a blur from then on. A blur of hate, confusion and despair. Now she was waiting to wake up from the horrific nightmare, for she was sure this couldn’t be reality.

And yet . . . she had held the cold, wet flesh of Simon, her only child, and she knew – without a doubt – that life was gone.

*   *   *

It was obvious Eden had no intention of returning his calls. Lennie could not believe she would casually come back into his life, screw up his head, and then expect him to vanish as if nothing had taken place.

‘Miss Antonio has received all your messages,’ the girl on her answering service told him when he called upon waking at noon. ‘And she will get back to you as soon as she is able.’

So fuck off
. That’s what the message conveyed.
Fuck off and don’t call again
.

He was angry. She had wanted him as much as he had wanted her. Godammit. What was this crap?

He stretched for the phone again and connected with Joey Firello’s answering service. Didn’t anyone pick up their own phone in California?

‘Mr Firello is out of town. I’ll give him your message.’

‘I need to talk to him now,’ Lennie said quickly. ‘Don’t you have a number where I can reach him?’

‘I’ll give him your message,’ the operator replied, ignoring his request.

Fucking zombie.

With difficulty he tracked down Suna and Shirlee in Palm Springs. Neither of them could remember where Eden lived, although they assured him it was near them.

‘That’s a big help,’ he said.

‘You’re not going to see her, are you?’ questioned Suna.

‘You and she together are poison,’ Shirlee added, on an extension phone.

He had not called for their advice. ‘Who’s her agent?’ he asked quickly.

‘Nobody important,’ they said as one.

‘I want a name, not a rating.’

They supplied him with a name. He called, and was informed by a secretary there was no way she could give him the home address of a client.

‘It’s urgent,’ he said sharply.

‘Leave a message,’ she replied. Snitty broad.

He dropped the phone. It was happening already. Back in his life for one night and she was making him crazy.

He knew that if he was smart he would forget the whole tiling. Dismiss her from his thoughts as she had probably dismissed him.

But who was smart? When it came to Eden he was the dumbest ass in town.

*   *   *

The imprint of Santino’s hand burnt into the pale skin on her cheek. Eden stared into the mirror, her eyes cloudy with fury. Nobody had ever hit her before. Nobody would have dared.

Bastard.

Hairy bastard.

He looked like a bald ape. He should be worshipping at her feet, not lifting his hand to her.

It was all so unexpected. She had guessed Santino Bonnatti was hardly Mister Charm, but she had not been ready for such a vicious attack.

And how did he know she was out anyway? Was he having her followed?

She decided to dump him.

That decision lasted five minutes. Timing was everything, and with a new house and his possible investment in a movie, now was not the right moment to say goodbye.

She leaned closer to the mirror and studied her face. Then she raised her hand and gently felt the marks of his jealousy.

She went into the kitchen, gathered ice in a towel, and held it to her cheek.

The phone rang three times, and then the service picked up. She had no desire to speak to anyone. Lennie Golden had left countless messages. It was probably him again.

Screw Lennie. He was the cause of all her troubles.

And screw Santino Bonnatti.

Bastard.

He would not get away with such behaviour. He would pay.

Eventually.

When the timing was right.

When she was ready.

*   *   *

Scotch eased the rejection. Half a bottle, and when Lennie hit the stage at Foxie’s he was belligerent and mean, with a cruel edge to his humour.